Something was evidently wrong.

Keenan knew it. It lined over his pretty face in the form of flashing lights and neon signs. He looked down at his feet awkwardly, twiddling his long thumbs like a toddler in trouble. He scratched his copper hair, looked over at me, then back to his shoes again.

I knew it. Although I didn’t remember who I was or where I came from, I could feel that something was erroneous; the sore feeling settled in the pit of my stomach, as corny as that sounds. It wrapped around me like a prickly wool blanket. You know, it seemed all warm but it hurt like a slap to the face.

That’s how it felt when Cillian called me his brother. A slap to the face. I wanted to believe that it was true and fate had brought me back to family, but something felt wrong. I didn’t want it to be wrong, but it was.

I looked over at Keenan, wondering if it would be safe to say anything. Ask some questions, maybe. But the look in his eyes told me not to. The look in his eyes told me, shut the hell up and play along.

So I did. I smiled at Cillian and rubbed his back in a brotherly way. I somewhat liked it too; pretending that I remembered him. I filled my mind with false memories of us joking and fighting by the fireplace. I feel kind of embarrassed about it now, actually.

“Why don’t we go downstairs?” Cillian offered, already pulling me out of the room. “We can catch up over beer and sandwiches.”

I didn’t like beer, but I never told him that.

Keenan was able to save himself by going into the kitchen to make the sandwiches. I was forced to sit at the wooden dinner table on the opposite side of Cillian, who had his arms crossed over his chest and watched me as if I was the food channel.

“I really missed you, Jack,” Cillian told me after a long while of tight silence. I opened my mouth to say something corny like ‘missed you too’, but Keenan came out with the sandwiches and beer. 

“Keenan won’t eat?” I asked, watching as he retreated wordlessly back into the kitchen.

Cillian shook his head, his shoulders growing stiff as he grabbed one bottle of beer. He snapped it open with his teeth. “Keenan is...foreign. He doesn’t like our food much.”

I didn’t ask about it again. I took one of the sandwiches and bit into it, an explosion of ham, cheese, and lettuce filling my mouth. I hadn’t noticed how hungry I was until then. It felt like I hadn’t eaten for ages as I shoved more sandwiches into my mouth.

Cillian laughed out loud, causing me to bite my tongue when I jumped. It was one of those loud laughs that shook the bottles on the table and vibrated in my butt cheeks. For as long as I can remember, I’ve hated those kinds of laughs. They seemed highly obnoxious.

Anyway, Cillian was laughing at me like a madman and I sort of got pissed from being embarrassed. Once he finished making a fool out of me, he wiped a tear from his brown eyes.

“I remember you used to be like that before, always eating everything as if it was the end of the world,” he said, still chuckling. “Ma used to yell at you because you would get indigestion after. You never stopped doing it, though. Clearly.”

I swallowed the mushy food in my mouth and forced myself to smile. “Really, now?”

“Yeah,” Cillian chirped. “You and Ma were really close. You were always glued to her and at times Dad beat you up for it.”

My head snapped up from my half eaten sandwich. “I was beaten?”

“Both of us were. He beat us when he was angry, tired, or bored. It got to a point where his fists felt like second nature.” Cillian sighed, taking a long swing from his bottle. “I believe you ran away because of that. You weren’t a strong person. You cried a lot, and it made him hit you even more. You were gone for two years—you left on your twenty-second birthday. Ma and I thought you were dead, until now. Too bad she’s gone now, though. She would have loved to see you.”

My blood ran cold. "What do you mean by gone? Is she...dead?"

Cillian nodded. "Her and the old man. It's just us now."

“Your—I mean, our father...did he ever cut me? On the chest?”

Cillian leaned back in his chair and cleaned his teeth with his tongue, thinking. Soon, he shook his head. “Not that I remember, no. Why do you ask?”

“Well I’ve got these pretty deep scars on my chest, and I was wondering where—”

“Eat,” Cillian said, his voice tight. “Don’t talk anymore. Just eat.”

“But—”

“Put the goddamn sandwiches in your mouth, Jack!”

Cillian’s voice was loud. Real loud. He had one of those voices that were built for authority and could instate fear into you even if he was just saying ‘I love you’. I don’t remember if I cried or not, but I know I was close to it. I reached for more sandwiches and shoved them in my mouth one by one until I felt like puking. Cillian leaned back in his chair again, looking satisfied.

I finally understood that I had limits. I wasn’t free to do and say whatever I wanted, not in Cillian’s house. The fear that I thought I lost was coming back to me faster than lightning. My hands shook, my knees wobbled. My eyes burned with tears and I thought I was going to snap until—

Keenan came in. Yeah, I remember now. Keenan came in, and all the fear ran away like night bugs from light. It wasn’t like what they show in movies with those cheesy couples, though. It was more like that sucking feeling again, as if he was a vacuum cleaner that sucked dry the emotions that I didn’t want. I knew it was an absurd idea, but that didn’t stop me from thinking it.

“The past doesn’t matter anymore, Jack,” said Cillian. “I’m glad that you don’t remember. I mean, I wish I could forget it as well. But everything will be fine again. After I finish what I have to do, it’ll all be okay. Join me in the basement when you’re finished, alright? I have a job for you to do.”

He got up then and walked over to a bookcase. He pushed it to the side, revealing a hidden door. Cillian pulled a shiny skeleton key out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and slipped into the darkness.

As soon as he disappeared I was finally able to breathe. I coughed out the remaining pieces of sandwich left in my mouth on a napkin before leaning back in my chair, sighing loudly.

“Scared?”

I jumped at the sound of Keenan’s voice. I hadn’t noticed that he was sitting on the table until then. Keenan swung his long legs to and fro, throwing a red apple in the air.

“You should be,” he continued. “Cillian’s a ticking time bomb.”

“Why are you with him, then?”

Keenan stopped throwing the apple and shrugged. “I have a weird interest in humans, I guess. Nothing you should worry about.”

I knew what he meant. It’s best if you don’t know.

“Am I really his brother?” I asked after a while of silence. Keenan bit into the apple, chewing it slowly.

“Does it matter?”

“What?”

“I said, does it matter? It’s not like you can tell him that you’re not. He’ll throw a fit. Plus, do you have any evidence to make you believe that you’re not? Evidence such as...memories?”

He had a point. I put my head down on the table, feeling worn out. It was tiring keeping it up. “It feels wrong though, smiling and laughing with him like that.”

“Later on, it won’t bother you anymore. Humans excel best at lying, after all.”

“What makes you say that? You’re acting as if you’ve never told a lie.”

Keenan went silent then. I even had to lift up my head to check if he was still there. And he was; he was just staring at his apple absently.

“I cannot lie,” he was like.

“What? But you just said humans—”

Keenan looked over at me, his honey brown eyes sharp. “Did I ever tell you I was human?”

I opened my mouth to say something, but Cillian’s irate voice bellowed from the basement. I was forced to get on my feet then and trudge pessimistically down the old wooden stairs. It stunk of mold, dust, and rotten meat, but of course I couldn’t say anything.

I found Cillian waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. He had two paint cans and handed me one paired with a brush.

“We’re painting the walls black. Come on,” he said, already cracking his can open.

“Black? But won’t that make everything dark—”

“Just shut the hell up and do as I say, Jack.”

And so I did. I guess I wasn’t much of a listener, because I screwed up and got yelled at a bunch of times. Keenan never came down to help us. I never asked about him again.

I learned a lot of things by the time we finished painting that damned basement, such as it was best to keep some things in the dark, even if you think that it’ll be better to bring it out into the light.

But like I said, I’m not much of a listener.